


Vigil

by TheMuchTooMerryMaiden



Series: The only way that each can help the other [2]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-18
Updated: 2011-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden/pseuds/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I bloody hate hospitals, Robbie thinks for perhaps the fortieth time that night each repetition preceded by a different recollection of a time he has sat in a waiting room, sat by a hospital bed, escorted relatives to view a loved one.</p><p>Lewis contemplates a number of things while Hathaway is in hospital after a car accident</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vigil

A phone call at two in the morning is never good news; good news can wait, it’s bad news that can’t contain itself until daylight. Twenty plus years in the police had not lessened Robbie Lewis’ reaction to a phone call in the middle of the night although by far more often they were bad news for someone else. Not this time though.

“Lewis,” he snapped into the receiver, trying to clear the sleep from his eyes and the fog from his brain,

“Robbie,” in the slight pause that followed he noticed two things clearly, it was Innocent calling and the fact that she had called him Robbie. This couldn’t possibly be anything but bad news, a case would have come via James or Innocent would have just pitched in with the pertinent information, above all the use of not just his first name but a diminutive left him with a sinking feeling of monumental proportions,

“What’s happened?” he growled out past the constriction in his throat and the thunder of his adrenaline boosted heartbeat.

“It’s James,” James, not Hathaway, Robbie was instantly on his feet from the sofa where he’d fallen asleep after James had left that evening, _Oh, God, was that going to be the last time?_

“What’s happened,” he repeated, “just tell me what’s happened.”

“He’s in the hospital,” Robbie barely heard the rest of the sentence, relief ringing in his ears that he wasn’t dead, even if an unspoken ‘yet’ hovered. “...like his car was knocked off the road and in the rain and dark no one spotted it until a patrol car checked the index and it came back with a police marker.”

“The John Radcliffe?”

“Yes, in the Casualty department at the moment ... will you be OK to get there? I can send a car...”

“No, I’ll be fine,” he said and he would be fine to get there even in this bloody weather, _just let me get there in time_ , “you could let any traffic cars out there know that I’m likely to be travelling at some speed.”

“Will do,” she replied, “listen Robbie, I’m sure he’ll be OK, I’ll see you there.”

 _He’ll be OK, he’ll be OK, he’ll be OK_ , it runs like a mantra through Robbie’s mind as he drives to the hospital, careless of speed limits, careless of his own safety. _Please let me get there in time_ he thinks as he stops at a red traffic light, impatience in every line of him. As soon as the lights start to change he’s off again, not sure whether his mantra is a reassurance or a prayer, and then he’s struck by the fact that he’s praying for Hathaway, maybe it’s true that there are no atheists in fox-holes.

Robbie was the first to the hospital and he knew his way to the Casualty department far too well. A quick conversation at the desk had pointed him to the right bed, to James, the long length of him looking ridiculously thin, frail and young in a hospital gown covered by a sheet. So amazingly pale was Robbie’s first thought, far too pale for a living being, he looked like a tomb effigy all carved marble, angles and stillness, except for the livid bruise on his forehead. A staff member brought a chair but Robbie couldn’t bring himself to sit down, standing instead staring at his DS.

In the end both Jean and Laura had turned up one straight after the other finding Robbie still standing staring at James. Both tried to be cheerful. Laura had looked carefully at Hathaway’s charts and given her considered opinion that James should be OK but that it might take some time. Robbie examined her face carefully looking for traces of the sort of false reassurance he’d given people himself in the past. He can’t see it in her face but he maybe she’s just better at hiding it than he ever was.

As soon as the two women arrived Robbie was wishing them away again. He knew that they were concerned, that they also cared about James, but he wanted to be on his own with James and he certainly did not want to be putting on a brave face for anyone right now. It was a considerable relief when they left, Laura when she was called away to a fat’ac (and Robbie cursed himself for mentally adding ‘another’ to the description) and Jean to try and contact Hathaway’s parents and probably to chivvy and harass the traffic unit in their investigation. Not that they’d need it, this was a brother officer, the investigation would be thorough and if it had been someone’s fault they would be found.

James was on half-hourly obs, whilst they wait for the results of the blood tests. A nurse took readings and jotted them down once every thirty minutes; he was non-committal when asked how James was doing,

“Well since we’re not actually sure what’s the matter it’s difficult to say. The head injury he’s got doesn’t seem like enough to be keeping him unconscious. In the morning we’ll do scans, but there’s a chance he’ll just wake up on his own. He’s not getting any worse,” he said. “The sooner he wakes up the better the prognosis but sometimes it just is purely a matter of time. You could try talking to him. People say it helps. It’ll probably help you if it doesn’t help him,” this last said with a compassionate smile. When the nurse had left Robbie continued to stare at James, unblinking until his vision blurred, what did you say in this situation?

“Don’t do this to me, James, I really don’t think I can do it again, I don’t want to say goodbye again to someone I love, not here not like Val and Morse. I know this isn’t the sort of reassuring thing you’re supposed to say to an unconscious person but it’s all I can think about, and who do I talk to when I need to get something of my chest?

“It’s weird, people you’ve known forever look completely different down there, and completely the same in a way that makes it difficult to think that anything could continue ... afterwards. Don’t make me see you like that. Do you still think, believe, that there is, I don’t know, a world to come? Not many in the police manage to hang onto their faith, I know that.

“When Morse died and when Val died I thought it would have been better to have ‘got there in time’ but I know that’s a load of crap now. I don’t want to see you change from alive to ... I really don’t want to be the one who says to switch off the machines, I just don’t want to see you dead. I know it’s selfish, but really I want to be the next person I know who dies.

“By the way, you git, that was a low blow listing me as next of kin so that I would have to make that decision, I’ll get you for that.

“Laura’s been here and Innocent, you’re honoured, you know that? I think the boss has gone to make Traffic’s life a misery until they work out what happened. You really should work on being awake before she gets back ... please?”

 _Threats and entreaties I’m giving him now_ , Robbie thinks, _bloody idiot that I am. What the hell can I say to him? I’ve already covered don’t die, I could tell him how much I need him, I could tell him all kinds of things which would embarrass the hell out of the poor lad if he were awake to hear them. I could tell him things about me but if and when I do that I want to do it when he can too. I want to know just how bad it was and more than that I want him to want to tell me._ And Robbie feels sick and incredulous that that might never happen.

Robbie reached out and took hold of James’s hand, “Come on, pet, wake up,” he said running his thumb over the back of James’s hand rhythmically, not sure who he was comforting. After a few minutes Robbie continued to talk. “God, but it’s been a busy few weeks hasn’t it, you’re probably just catching up on your sleep. I hope it wasn’t that you fell asleep driving, I think I’d feel responsible if that’s what happened, I should have chucked you out much earlier.” He went back to stroking James’s hand staring at their entwined fingers.

When the doctor came in he had to speak twice before he attracted Robbie’s attention.

“I said, we need to run some more tests, you’ll need to wait outside.”

“Are you sure,” Robbie said, “I’d rather stay, I don’t want him to wake up on his own...”

“Sorry you really will need to wait outside, the nurse needs to ask you some questions and you can get that over with.” The smile the doctor gave him was, he was sure an attempt at reassurance, but it looked strained.

“OK.” Outside the side room that James was in Robbie stretched, suddenly aware that he had been sat in the same position for far too long. He didn’t see the nurse come out of the room and he almost started when he spoke,

“Could you answer some questions for us?”

“Yeah, OK go on, I’ll try.”

“When did you last see Mr Hathaway before he was brought in?” Robbie thought for a second,

“He left about quarter past midnight, I think,” the nurse made a note on the clipboard,

“Had he been drinking?”

“No, he wasn’t drunk, he very rarely drinks much.”

“Sorry, just to be clear, had he had anything to drink at all?”

“He had a bottled beer at about half seven, didn’t finish it all, said he had a headache, didn’t feel too well,” this time there were more scribbled notes

“Does he get a lot of headaches?”

“I’m not sure I’d know but I don’t think so,” yet another note made,

“Had he been ill or unwell at all?”

“Well he’s been a bit under the weather, but it’s been a hell of a week and we were both knackered. He seemed a bit subdued but then we’d just finished a bloody awful case, neither of us was exactly singing.”

The questions went on Robbie finding it easier to answer them than to try and get to grips with what they were asking him. Towards the end of the questions he began to notice that the nurse was trying to be tactful with him and it took him a second to work out why. _God,_ he thought, _they think we’re an item! I wonder how many other people think the same? Surely they can see I’m too old for him? Bugger, how embarrassing for the lad,_

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, aware that he’d missed the nurse’s last comment.

“I said we’re still trying to find out what’s wrong with him, we haven’t been able to find a reason for him to be unconscious. You should be alright to go back in now.”

“Thanks,” Robbie said, already turning towards the door.

As soon as he went back into the room he could tell that James was considerably less comfortable than he had been, the sheets were disarranged and James’s face was creased with lines of pain.

“What’s happened?” Robbie snapped moving to the head of the bed and taking James’ hand again.

“He seems to be getting closer to being conscious and he does seem to be in a fair amount of pain...”

“Well give him something for it, man,” Robbie snapped, he couldn’t understand why he’d even had to say that.

“I’m afraid we can’t just at the moment, we can’t investigate what’s wrong with him when he’s drugged and just now the pain is the only clue we’ve got as to what’s the matter. I’m going to consult one of my colleagues but we are going to need to run some more tests. Are you Robert Lewis?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Because you’re listed as next of kin and I’ll probably need to get your consent for some of the tests. Listen, don’t panic unduly, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Before he left Robbie had turned from him and was smoothing James’ hair from his forehead whilst he held onto his hand, aware for the first time that James was running a temperature. It quickly became obvious that the doctor had been right about the pain. James was tossing and turning feebly and muttering under his breath, nothing intelligible for the most part, the occasional name coming through most clearly, including his own from time to time. The hand that Robbie had been holding had been limp but now James was gripping his hand almost painfully tight and James had brought his other hand up to cover his eyes. Robbie began to have horrible suspicions as to what might be wrong.

“Come on now, bonny lad, we’ll soon have you right, let’s see if we can make you a bit more comfortable shall we?” James turned towards him when he spoke Robbie noticed and he continued to murmur soothing phrases from his own childhood as he reached over to the water jug on the bedside table. He knew that he shouldn’t give James anything to drink but he put his unclaimed hand into the water and then gently wiped James’ face in an attempt to cool him down. It did seem to help; James stopped squirming but still hung onto Robbie’s hand like it was his only anchor. Slightly adjusting the grip on his hand Robbie sank into the chair at the bedside.

 _I bloody hate hospitals_ , Robbie thinks for perhaps the fortieth time that night each repetition preceded by a different recollection of a time he has sat in a waiting room, sat by a hospital bed, escorted relatives to view a loved one.

Twice it was worse, there are two occasions that he tries desperately to avoid thinking about, twice when he was too late to do more than give a chaste kiss to a marble-cold forehead and then walk away and try to build a new life. _Don’t make me do that again, please_ he pleads silently with the man in the bed and possibly with a higher power in which he scarcely allows himself to believe.

Robbie looked up as the door opened,

“Well?” he asked,

“We think we know what it is,” the doctor said, “but we need to run one more test.”

“Tell me,” Robbie demanded.

“We think it’s probably meningitis,” he said, staring at Robbie, trying to gauge his reaction to this, but Robbie interrupted him,

“I’d begun to think as much. What’s the test?”

“A lumbar puncture, it’s a procedure where we get a sample of the fluid in James’ spine so that we can analyse it. It will tell us whether this is a viral or a bacterial infection, we think it’s probably viral which is good news but we need to be sure. You’ll need to sign a permission, there are risks to an LP...”

“Is it necessary?” Robbie asked, and when the doctor nodded he continued, “then get on with it.”

“OK, read the sheet and sign at the bottom, I’ll go and get an LP tray and a nurse to help, he’ll need to be held still since he’s still not properly conscious.”

“I’ll hold him, he seems to be taking some notice of what I’m saying to him.” The doctor looked sceptical,

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, man, get on with it.” While the doctor was out Robbie scanned the sheet. “It might give you a headache it says here, pet, how will you know the difference?” He signed the paper and put the clipboard down on the bedside chair as the doctor came back in.

“OK then, we’ll need to get him on his side, facing towards you. Bring his knees up as far as you can to stretch his spine out and then hold his head and his knees still so that he can’t move while I’m getting the sample.”

Robbie lent over James, grasping the upper part of his left arm and pulling it at the same time as pushing his nearer arm, a quick tug on his left leg as he rolled over had him quickly on his side.

“OK, pet,” he murmured as he hooked his right arm behind James’ knees and pulled his right arm across James’ back, drawing his arms together to curve the younger man’s back. “Will that do you?” he asked the doctor.

“I’m impressed,” he replied, “where did you learn to do that?”

“I worked as an orderly for a while,” came the terse reply, “can you get on with it before he realises this hurts.”

“Sure.”

The doctor’s ‘sure’ did not come quite quickly enough and Robbie felt James begin to feebly resist his man-handling. Robbie began a soothing monologue of reassurance,

“Shush, now, soon be over pet, just a little bit longer, soon have you better, keep still, soon be over,” on and on until the doctor had filled two small vials with fluid from the needle.

“OK,” the doctor said, “let him go slowly, he might still struggle.” Carefully Robbie lessened his grip on James’ back and was rewarded by flailing arms as the young man struggled,

“Easy, lad,” he said, “easy now.” James’ eyes snapped open and looked at him uncomprehending for a moment, before focussing a little more,

“Sir?” He slurred the words but just the fact that he recognised Lewis made the older man feel a stunning relief.

“Just quiet yourself down, sergeant, you need to lie still.”

“Feel awful,” James grimaced,

“Yeah, I know, soon be better though, if you do what you’re told and lie flat.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” With that James relaxed and Robbie helped him to roll over onto his back, reaching up to move the light the doctor had used so that it wasn’t shining in the lad’s eyes and being rewarded by a relieved sigh.

The doctor looked up from labelling the samples, “I’ll get a rush on these. The fluid looks clear, I think it probably is viral in which case he should be fine relatively quickly. I’m going to send someone in to set up an antibiotic drip in case I’m wrong, he’ll feel better when he’s less dehydrated. We can give him something for the pain now as well.”

Ever polite, James managed a slurred, “thanks,” but was quickly back asleep.

“I’ll let you know the results straight away but does he have any family other than you?” the doctor asked.

“Not that you’d notice,” Robbie replied a snap in his voice, “I’ll let them know when I know what to tell them,” he said repenting a little.

“OK, I’ll be back to speak to you soon.”

“Thanks.”

 _Bloody hell,_ Robbie thinks staring down at James who is back to lying almost motionless on his back, _I thought I was well passed where I had to worry about this kind of thing, one of the big advantages of the kids growing up. What a bloody peculiar night this has been._ Robbie watches as a nurse expertly sets up a drip into one of the veins in James’ left hand and either he’s very good or James is unconscious again because he doesn’t stir. Robbie mutters his thanks as the nurse leaves without really looking up from James.

Rubbing at his face as he drops in to the bedside chair again Robbie realises that it gives him an uncomfortable feeling that he doesn’t want to explore to put James in the same sequence of thoughts as his kids, the two things together don’t match like he’s trying to change gear without using the clutch. _Not really feeling fatherly am I_ , he admits to himself.

 _I hated having to hold him down like that. I really hope I’m the first one to hold him down, but I’d be willing to bet I’m not._ And with that thought Robbie feels a strange surge of anger and violence followed almost instantly by a feeling of relief that Lord Mortmaigne is out of his reach. _Just one more time when even though I caught the bastard it didn’t make anything right._

And then there is nothing to do but wait for the results of the tests. Robbie is sitting again in the bedside chair, his hand stretched out to James' arm, maintaining the contact. Robbie isn’t sure that it’s helping James although when he moves his hand the lad is more restless. Robbie knows that it helps him to hold on to James; his mental image of James as a tomb effigy recedes when he can feel the warmth of his skin even if it is a hectic warmth that speaks of illness. Robbie has run out of intelligent things to say to James and now he just mutters reassurances and soothing nothings whenever the lad stirs in his fever.

Outside the room Robbie can hear the hospital waking up, starting its new day. Briefly he thinks about work but dismisses it; Innocent knows where he is and James is getting more restless and he isn’t going to leave him.

Robbie only realised that he had dozed off when he was woken by James’ voice,

“Sir?”

“What ... oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Oh, OK,” James replied readily and was rewarded with a sceptical look from his boss, “well pretty bloody might be a more accurate and truthful answer,” he admitted. “what happened?”

Robbie gave him the story in a terse recitation, like he was giving a statement; it helped him to distance himself from the events of the night. He didn't name the illness, time enough for James to worry if he had to.

“How long have you been here, sir?” James asked.

“Since about two o’clock, about an hour after you got here.”

“You haven’t said what they think is wrong with me, should I be worried?”

For a moment Robbie contemplated not answering the question but then he decided that not answering directly would be far too parental. “Should have known you'd spot that, they think it’s meningitis but most likely viral, couple of weeks of rest and you’ll be fine, it’s just like the ‘flu really.”

“Yeah,” James replied, “I did think I was sickening for something all through today, couldn’t face eating or drinking. What have they given me for it?”

“Nothing much, you were dehydrated so that’s why the drip and some antibiotics in case it isn’t viral and something for the pain. Seems to have done the trick, at least you’re properly awake.”

“Did I wreck the car?” James asked.

“Not sure, I think you might have done. Traffic found you, but I didn’t enquire about your car so much as get my arse out of bed and get here to see if you were OK.” Robbie felt himself blush as he said this and looked down, spending the night contemplating James seemed to have removed some of the layers of protection he had built up round himself over the past five years. He swallowed, feeling ridiculously nervous, “you gave me quite a scare, pet.”

It was James’ turn to look down and flush, “I’m sorry, s...” was all he got out as the doctor came back into the room, smiling and relaxed.

“Well, it’s good news gentlemen,” he breezed, “the tests show that there is no indication that this is anything other than a simple viral meningitis, we’ll hang on to James for the rest of the day because of the bang on the head, but then it’s just home and rest, same treatment as ‘flu, plenty of fluids, plenty of sleep.” Turning specifically to James the doctor continued with a smile, “I’m sure he’ll look after you!” and breezed out again, oblivious to the reactions of the two men.

Speaking over each other Robbie said, “They all seem to think we’re a couple,” while James said “They think we’re together.”

“Afraid so,” Robbie replied, “they’re right about one thing though, you will need looking after for a day or so, you’ll come back to mine?” James’ blush deepened,

“Is it something to be afraid of?”, James asked and for the life in him Robbie couldn't decipher his expression, hope or fear or desire or embarrassment, it was anybody's guess, and Robbie wasn't sure which of those he wanted the expression to be.

“Can’t say at the moment," he replied with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "and certainly not while you’re ill, but I dare say we’ll work it out. Now go to sleep, we’ll discuss it later.”


End file.
